Homilies on Ecclesiastes 1 part 2/8

This one names himself Ecclesiast, just as he names himself physician, and life, and resurrection, and light, and way, and door, and truth, and all the names of loving-kindness.

Just as, then, the physician's voice is fitting toward the sick, so the word of life becomes effective upon the dead — who, when they hear the voice of the Son of Man, no longer remain in their ancient deadness;

and those who are in the tombs seek out the voice of the resurrection;

and the word of light is fitting for those who are darkened, and the way for those who have gone astray, and moreover the door for those who need to enter;

so too the Ecclesiast surely converses with those who assemble in the church.

The Ecclesiast, then, speaks to us.

And so let us, the church, hear his words.

As the chorus looks to its leader, and the sailors to the helmsman, and the battle-line to the general, so too those who are in the fullness of the church look to the leader of the church.

What, then, does the Ecclesiast say? "I became king over Israel in Jerusalem."

When was this? Was it not surely when he was established as king by Him upon Zion, His holy mountain, proclaiming the ordinance of the Lord — he to whom the Lord said, "You are my Son," and "Today I have begotten you"?

For he said that the Maker of the universe, the Father of the ages, has begotten him "today," so that, by setting the temporal term alongside the moment of the begetting, the word might set forth not the pre-eternal existence, but the birth in time, through flesh, for the salvation of human beings.

These things, then, the true Ecclesiast recounts, teaching, I think, the great mystery of salvation, for the sake of which God was manifested in flesh.

"For I gave," he says, "my heart to seek out and to search out, in wisdom, concerning all the things that have come to be under heaven."

This is the cause of the Lord's sojourning among human beings through flesh: to give his heart to visiting, in his own wisdom, the things that have come to be under heaven.

For the things above heaven had no need of one to visit them, just as that which is not held fast by disease has no need of one who heals.

Since, then, evils are found about the earth —

for the creeping beast, the serpent, dragging itself upon its breast and belly, makes the earth its food, feeding on nothing of the things of heaven, but, dragging itself along the trodden path, ever looks toward the one who treads, watching for the heel of the human way, and injecting its venom into those who have lost the authority to tread upon serpents —

for this reason he gave his heart "to seek out and to search out concerning all the things that have come to be under heaven";

for in the things above the heavens the prophet beholds the divine majesty unhumbled, saying, "Your majesty was raised up above the heavens."

But since the part under heaven has been humbled through vice —

for thus the psalmist says, that "because of their sins they were humbled" —

this is what the Ecclesiast came to visit: what has come to be under heaven that was not before, how vanity entered in, how that which does not subsist gained the mastery, what is the dominion of that which does not exist.

For evil has no subsistence, because it has its "being" from that which is not; and that which is, from that which is not, is not at all in its own nature; yet nonetheless vanity holds sway over those who have been made like unto vanity.

He came, then, to seek out by his own wisdom what has come to be under the sun, what is the confusion of the affairs here below, how that which is came to be enslaved to that which is not, how that which has no subsistence holds dominion over that which is.

And he saw: "that God has given a sore travail to the sons of men, to be exercised therewith."

But this — as one might understand it offhand — it is not pious to suppose, namely that God himself gave to human beings this evil distraction;

for then the cause of evils would be referred back to Him.

For He who is good by nature is surely also a giver of good things only, because "every good tree makes good fruits," and neither does a grape grow from thorns, nor a thorn spring from a vine.

He, then, who is good by nature, would not bring forth anything evil out of his own treasures;

for not even the good man speaks evil things out of the abundance of his heart, but utters what corresponds to his own nature;

how much more, then, would the fountain of good things not pour forth anything of evil out of its own nature? But the more pious understanding proposes that we should think this: that the good gift of God — and this is the self-determined movement [of the will] — through the mistaken use of human beings became an instrument unto sin.

For that which is self-determined and unenslaved is good by nature, but that which is yoked under necessities no one would number among good things.

But this self-determined impulse of the understanding, having slipped away, untutored, toward the choice of vice, became a distraction of the soul, which was dragged down from things high and honorable to the passionate movements of nature.

Not that He himself worked evil into the life of human beings, but that man, through lack of counsel, used the good things given by God in the service of evils.

Now it is customary for Holy Scripture to proclaim such thoughts by expressions of this kind, as: "God gave them over to passions of dishonor," and "He gave them over to a debased mind," and "He hardened Pharaoh's heart," and "Why have you led us astray, O Lord, from your way; you have hardened our hearts so as not to fear you," and "He led them astray in a trackless place, and not a way," and "You deceived me, and I was deceived," and as many other expressions as are of a similar kind — in which the precise sense does not establish that anything untoward came to be in human nature from God, but rather accuses that authority [of free choice], which is indeed good, a gift of God given to our nature, but which, through lack of counsel, has become for us a power inclining toward the contrary.

The Ecclesiast, then, saw "all the things that were made in the life under the sun, that all was vanity."

For there was none who understood, there was none who sought after God, since all had turned aside and together had become worthless.

For this reason, having said, "And behold, all things were vanity," he added the cause — that God is not the cause of these things, but the free choice of human impulse, which he named "spirit."

And he accuses this "spirit," not because it was such from the beginning;

for it would have been beyond accusation had it come to be such [by nature];

but because, having been perverted, it was put out of harmony with the ordered whole.

For just as the craftsman, constructing something for himself according to a design, guides by rule and line the parts that, through their skilled position relative to one another, bring to completion the working of the object;

but if any of these parts should not be guided according to the line, the straight harmony by no means admits the distortion, but that part too must be brought under the line and made straight, if it is to be fitted together with what is straight;

so, says the Ecclesiast, the nature that has been distorted by vice cannot be admitted into the creation that has been ordered by right reason.

"And a deficiency," he says, "shall not be able to be numbered."

The customary usage of Scripture teaches us to understand "to be in want" as "to be lacking," and this can be confirmed from many instances.

For Paul, who has been initiated "in everything and in all things," knows both "how to be in want and how to abound";

and he who, through profligacy, had squandered his father's substance, when a famine took hold, began to be in want;

and Paul, recounting concerning the saints, both says other things about them, among the sufferings they endured in the body, and adds this too, that they were "destitute, afflicted."

Therefore here too, the text, in saying "deficiency," has by this word indicated that which is lacking;

and that which is lacking cannot become numbered among the things that exist.

For indeed the disciples, so long as all were in their own fullness, were twelve in number; but when the son of perdition was lost, the number was cut short, because the one who was lacking was no longer numbered together with those who remained;

for after Judas, they both were and were called eleven.

"The deficiency, then," he says, "shall not be able to be numbered."

What does this signify by these words? That the part which is ours was once numbered together with the whole;

for we too were completing the sacred hundred of the rational sheep.

But when the one sheep — our nature — was driven away from the heavenly manner of life, dragged down through vice to this salty and parched place, no longer is the same number recorded for the flock of those who have not gone astray, but ninety-nine are named;

for that which is vain falls outside the number of the things that subsist, because "a deficiency shall not be able to be numbered."

He came, then, to seek and to save that which was lost, and, taking it upon his shoulders, to restore to the number of those who exist that which was perishing in the vanity of things that do not subsist, so that the number of God's creation might again become complete, the one who was lost being brought safely back to those who are not lost.

What, then, is the return of that which went astray, and what is the manner of the ascent from evils to the good — we are taught in what follows.

In all things, according to likeness, without sin, he converses with us out of what is our own.

He who took up our weaknesses, through the very infirmities of nature, points out the way that lies beyond vice.

For now understand that Wisdom converses with us through Solomon himself according to the flesh, and speaks these very things by which we might best be led to a disdain for what is eagerly pursued among men.

For his discourse does not proceed in the manner of the many, who lack the power to obtain what their heart desires, so that on this account it should be untrustworthy—condemning things of which he has had no experience.

For we ourselves do not learn everything by our own experience, but we know by reasoning alone those things of which poverty prevents us the enjoyment-experience of pleasures.

And if any counsel is offered by us to someone, that he ought to regard as nothing the things honored among men, the hearer's ready objection is that we disparage those things for this reason—that we have not come to know by experience the pleasure that is in them.

But in the case of him who converses these things with us, every such objection is rendered idle.

For it is Solomon who says these things.

He himself, having received the rule from his father, and the power of the Israelites having already grown to greatness, is proclaimed king;

who no longer wore down his subjects through war and battle, but living in peace with full authority, made it his business not to acquire what he did not have, but to enjoy what he already possessed in abundance.

Since, then, nothing stood in his way as an obstacle to anything his heart desired—

for his abundance extended as far as his desire, and his leisure was unhindered for enjoyment—

with nothing unwanted cutting short his course amid the things his heart desired, and being wise besides, and capable through his understanding of devising this and that among the things pursued for enjoyment—having contrived and done all the things which he afterward enumerated in order in his discourse, he said that he had learned by experience itself that vanity is the one end of the things pursued in these matters.

He gave such an order to his narrative: first, in the earliest times of his own life, to devote leisure to education and not grow soft toward the labors that arise from such pursuits, but to employ the purpose of the spirit—that is, the impulse of nature—for the increase of knowledge, even if what was pursued was achieved only with labor; and thus, having grown through wisdom, to examine not by word alone the passionate and irrational deception of men concerning bodily pleasures, but also, through actual experience of each of the things pursued, to come to recognize their vanity.

This, then, is the aim of what has been written after the matters already examined.

It would now be time to set forth, in due order and in keeping with what has been written, the examination of the text word by word.

"I spoke in my heart, saying, Behold, I have become great."

"For since I saw," he says, "the greatness that came upon me from my power, and the weight of the kingdom that suddenly befell me, I did not stand still content with what was present, nor did I think that what had accrued to me without labor was sufficient for a prosperous life; but before these things I made the possession of wisdom my chief concern—wisdom, which it is not possible to acquire otherwise than with labors and sweat."

For this reason, having said, "I spoke in my heart, saying, Behold, I have become great," he added, "And I added wisdom."

"For the weight of power that had accrued to me spontaneously I increased by the addition of wisdom," saying this within himself, that especially through this he ought to be shown superior to the kings who came before him, and to have the greater share in wisdom.

"For I added wisdom beyond all who were before me in Jerusalem, and I considered how these things might come to be."

For who does not know that wisdom is constituted, for those who labor diligently, in the knowledge of what others have already labored to achieve? Wherefore he says:

"...my heart, to know wisdom and knowledge"—since he would not have learned these things unless labor and the diligent study of their knowledge had gone before;

but also, he says, "I came to know parables and understanding," that is, the comprehension of what lies beyond, arrived at by analogy through the juxtaposition of things already known.

And he says that he has learned these things too:

"For I came to know parables," he says, "and understanding"—just as also in the Gospel the Lord, teaching his hearers, sets before their sight the discourse concerning the kingdom, relating either a pearl, or a treasure, or a wedding, or a grain, or leaven, or something of this sort—not saying that these things are the kingdom, but through the likeness of what is signified in them, indicating to his hearers, by way of parable, certain sparks and riddles of things that lie beyond comprehension.

"And to this end," he says, "the purpose of my spirit was directed—that a multitude of wisdom might be mine, so that, by becoming wise, I might not miss the knowledge of the things that are, nor fall short of discovering what is profitable."

For from wisdom knowledge is constituted, and knowledge makes easier for us the judgment of what is superior.

This, however, does not by nature come to those who pursue it without toil; rather, he who adds knowledge to himself certainly intensifies the labor along with the learning.

Wherefore he says, "He who adds knowledge shall add sorrow."

And having become such a man, he then passes judgment against pleasures as vain.

For he says: "I said in my heart, Come now, I will test you with mirth, and look upon good things—and behold, this too is vanity."

For he did not at once give himself over to such experience, nor, untasted of the austere and more dignified life, did he slide down into participation in pleasures; but having been trained in those disciplines, and having established in his character the unsmiling and unyielding firmness through which especially the lessons of wisdom come to those who pursue them, he then let himself down to the things reckoned pleasant to sensation—not dragged down to them by passion, but for the sake of examining whether the perception that arises in these things contributes anything to the knowledge of the truly good.

since, at the very outset, he makes laughter his own enemy, and names the passion "derangement"—which in meaning is equivalent to distraction and madness—

for indeed, what else could one properly call laughter, which is neither speech nor a deed accomplished toward any purpose, but an unseemly relaxation of the body, and a shaking of the breath, and a convulsion of the whole body, and a distention of the cheeks, and a baring of the teeth and gums and palate, and a twisting of the neck, and an irrational breaking of the voice, cut short together with the fracturing of the breath—

"What else," he says, "could this be, but madness?" Wherefore he says, "To laughter I said, Derangement," as though he were saying to laughter:

"You are mad, and you have been driven out of your senses, and you do not remain within what is settled, willingly disgracing yourself and distorting your countenance in this passion, producing the distortion to no useful end."

And he said, "And to mirth, What is this that you do?"—which is equivalent to saying:

"I held myself in resistance toward pleasure, suspecting its approach as though it were some thief stealing secretly into the storehouses of the soul, and I never allowed it to gain mastery over my understanding."

"For if I merely perceived pleasure creeping about my senses like some wild beast, I would at once fight against it and resist it," saying to this slavish and irrational mirth, "What are you doing?"

...to one in whom it abounds, in the way that happens with those who are thirsty;

for wine does not remain in the cup, if it is brought to a thirsty mouth, but passes over to the one drinking, and becomes invisible, being drawn eagerly within.

When this had come to pass, my guidance toward the knowledge of the things that are became for me unerring and unobstructed.

"For my heart," he says, "guided me in wisdom, through which I gained mastery over the uprising of pleasures, and discipline became for me the cause of mastering mirth."

For thus the sequence of the wording runs.

This above all was, according to knowledge, my earnest pursuit: not to occupy my life with anything vain, but to find that good thing which, whoever attains it, does not fail in the judgment of what is beneficial—a good which is enduring and not temporary, and which extends throughout the whole of life, being equally good at every age, first, middle, and last, and throughout the whole number of one's days.

"For until I should see," he says, "what good thing there is for the sons of men, which they should do under the sun, throughout the number of the days of their life."

For the things pursued through the flesh, even if they entice the senses most powerfully for the present moment, have their delight only for an instant;

for it is not possible to derive lasting pleasure from any of the things that occur in the body, but the pleasure of drinking ceases together with satiety, and likewise in the case of eating, fullness extinguishes the appetite; and if any other desire is in the same way withered by participation in the desired object, even should it arise again, it withers again;

and none of the things pleasant to sense endures forever, nor remains the same.

And further, besides these things, one good thing belongs to infancy and another to the prime of life; one thing to the man past his prime and another to one beyond his years; and again another thing to the old man already inclining toward the earth.

"But I," he says, "was seeking that good which is equally good at every age and throughout the whole time of life—a good of which satiety is not to be expected nor is fullness to be found, but rather appetite is extended along with participation in it, and desire flourishes together with enjoyment and is not circumscribed by attainment of the thing desired; but the more one delights in this good, the more desire is kindled together with delight, and delight is intensified together with desire; and throughout every span of life it continually proves good to those who pursue it, undergoing no alteration with the instability of ages and times—a good which is equally good to one closing the eyes and to one looking up, to one prospering and to one grieving, to one passing the night and to one passing the day, to one traveling by land and to one journeying by sea, to one active and to one at rest, to one who rules and to one who serves, and, in a word, to absolutely all people in every circumstance of life alike—becoming, under things that befall one by chance circumstance, neither worse nor better, neither diminished nor increased."

This is, at least according to my own account, the truly existing good, which Solomon sought to see—that which men should do under the sun throughout the whole number of the days of their life.

This appears to me to be nothing other than the work of faith, whose activity is common to all, set forth in equal honor to all who are willing, and remaining with life in every way potent and enduring.

This is the good work, which may it also come to be in us in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be glory forever.

HOMILY III. It would now be time to investigate what the voice of the Ecclesiast teaches us after this.

We have learned first—among the things we have learned—that he who convenes the whole of creation, and seeks what has been lost, and gathers together into one what has gone astray, this one visits the earthly life.

For that which is "under heaven"—what the text calls "that which is under the heaven"—is earthly, and in it deception and vanity and non-being hold sway.

...of a passionate disposition, so that the rejection of such things might become credible to us, coming as it does from one who has, with full authority, the enjoyment of whatever leads to pleasure, and yet spurns as nothing all that seems to be eagerly pursued among men.

What, then, in due order, do we now learn thirdly? A lesson which, I think, is most fitting of all for those who assemble in the church—I mean the confession concerning things done contrary to reason, which produces in the soul the passion of shame through the acknowledgment of what is improper.

For the sense of reverence implanted in men seems to be a great and powerful weapon for the avoidance of sin, placed in nature by God, I think, for this very purpose—that such a disposition of the soul might become for us a deterrence from worse things.

And the passion of reverence and the passion of shame are closely and intimately related to one another, and through both of them sin is hindered, if indeed one is willing to make use of such a disposition of the soul for this purpose.

For often reverence has instructed toward the avoidance of improper things more than fear has; but also the shame that follows upon the exposure of a fault is by itself sufficient to bring the sinner to his senses, so that he does not again fall into similar things.

And it is the case, as one might describe their difference by definition, that shame is intensified reverence, while reverence, conversely, is diminished shame.

And the difference and the kinship of these passions is also shown by the color of the face.

For reverence is signaled by blushing alone, the body somehow sympathizing with the soul according to a certain natural co-affection, the heat around the heart boiling up to the surface of the face; but he who is ashamed at the exposure of his fault becomes livid and darkly reddened, fear mixing bile with the blush.

Such a passion, then, could be sufficient for those who have previously been caught in some impropriety, to keep them from falling again into those things for which they have made their exposure in shame.

If, then, this is so, and reason has rightly conjectured the purpose of this passion—namely that such a disposition arises in nature for the guarding against faults—it is well to regard as a lesson proper to the church the achievement that comes through the confession of one's transgressions;

for through this it is possible to fortify one's own soul with the weapon of shame.

For just as, if someone through immoderate gluttony should gather within himself certain ill-digested humors, and then, the body having fallen into inflammation, is cured of the disease by incision and cautery, and thereafter has, as a kind of instructor toward good order for the rest of his life, the scar of the cautery, seeing it upon his body—so also he who has publicly exposed himself through the confession of hidden things will, by the memory of the passion of shame, be instructed toward the life that follows.

These, then, are the things which the Church is taught through the present reading of what is written in Ecclesiastes.

For he speaks with a free voice, publishing that testimony, and setting up before all men, as it were, an inscribed pillar, the avowal of the things done by him — things of such a kind that ignorance of them and silence about the matter would be more glorious than the telling.

Whether he actually did these things, or fashioned them for our benefit, in order to bring the discourse to its intended goal by a consistent argument, I cannot say with precision;

nevertheless he says these things, with which one who looks to virtue would not willingly consort.

But whether, for the sake of some design, he recounts as having happened things that did not happen, and accuses himself as though he had had the experience, so that we might turn aside from the desire for the things accused before we have the experience of them, or whether he also willingly let himself down into the enjoyment of such things, so as to exercise his own senses precisely, even through their opposites, let it lie open to whoever wishes, by his own authority, to direct his conjecture to whichever view he prefers.

But if someone should say that he really did come to have experience of pleasant things, we suppose it thus:

just as, if divers should find somewhere some pearl or other such thing born in the deep — things in which the toil beneath the water brings no pleasure at all, but the hope of gain has made them go down into the depths — so, if Solomon came to be among these things, he gave himself, in every way like one of those who dive for purple-fish in the sea, submerged to luxury, not so as to be filled with the brine of the sea (and by brine I mean pleasure), but in order to seek something useful to the understanding in such a depth.

And what would be useful, found by means of such things, according to my own conjecture, is this: to blunt the impulses of the body by setting before oneself, with full liberty, whatever one wishes;

for nature's motions are always more contentious toward that which is forbidden;

or else the teacher engages in these things for the sake of credibility, so that the thing despised might no longer be thought welcome by men, on the authority of one who has learned its vanity through experience.

for indeed they say that physicians succeed best in their art with regard to that disease whose form they have come to know through their own bodies;

and they become more reliable counselors and healers of such conditions, the knowledge of which they obtained through having been treated beforehand, in proportion as they were instructed in advance by their own suffering.

Let us see, then, what he says he has experienced — he who by his own life heals our life.

"I magnified my work," he says, "I built houses for myself."

At once the discourse begins with self-accusation.

For he does not say, "I magnified the work of God, which is what I am," but "I magnified my own work."

And my own work is nothing other than that which brings pleasure to sense-perception.

And this work is, in its general definition, one, but by minute division it is parcelled out into many according to the uses of luxury.

For the one who has once come within the depth of matter is under every necessity of turning his eye in every direction, wherever it is possible for pleasure to spring forth.

For just as water is conducted from one spring in many directions through pipes, and the water divided from the same spring is no less one, even if it happens to flow through countless spouts, so too pleasure, being one in nature, withdrawing now this way, now that, amid the differences of pursuits, flows everywhere, introducing itself along with the needs of life.

For instance, life made dwelling a necessity for nature;

for the human constitution is by nature too weak to bear the irregularities arising from heat and cold;

up to this point the house has its usefulness for life.

But pleasure has compelled man to pass beyond the bounds of need.

For, as one not providing what is needful for the body, but contriving delights and luxuries for the eyes, he almost grieves that he has not made heaven itself roofed over, and that he cannot even build the very rays of the sun into his roof.